


The First Day of Summer

by guileheroine



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Cultural References, F/F, Festivals, Fluff, Introspection, New Years, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 11:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18475267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guileheroine/pseuds/guileheroine
Summary: As their tour of the southeastern Earth Kingdom comes to a close, Korra celebrates New Year's Day in a brand new city with Asami and the memory of Aang.





	The First Day of Summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [willoghby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willoghby/gifts).



> this fic is a bday gift for @willoghby!! imo it's lovely that her birthday is the same as New Year's Day in several S/SE Asian traditions, so I thought it would be cute to use that premise for her gift. the fic is based mostly on bengali new year, since that's what i'm familiar with.
> 
> I happily stole the setting from another work ([Heartlines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805152/chapters/36785313) by @kuchi, highly recommended!) since it approximates that region masterfully and has generally been on my mind being my favourite fic rn, so this piece grew into a kind of Future Fic to that one as well

At this early hour, still as the air, Korra is probably the closest to cool she has been in several weeks. She's pretty sure that her bending and her state of mind are more to thank for that than the actual weather, but it’s a welcome change.

 

Morning comes so eagerly here, the hard trill of a fish seller beating a faraway cockerel to the call. There’s a crispness to the chirp of the myna birds, to the bright dawn - and probably (hopefully) to the fried bread she can already smell, carrying from somewhere before her. She lets them wash over her, opening her senses once again to the outside world. The limbs of the banyan tree behind her shroud her from the rest of the park, her cocoon of peace always lagging a while as rest of the surroundings come to life in short minutes.

 

She came not a moment too soon: arriving, she’d found that many locals setting up for the festivities had also risen before the sun. It’s nice that people get up this early on purpose to do anything other than meditate, which is, if anything, its own kind of mindful rest when Korra manages it. The bustle is already building, though not yet unpleasant, and she’s sort of gleeful to have experienced a mythical moment of quiet in Daoshu. It’s clearly no longer the thriving but moderate province Aang had described in his writings - it’s more like a province-sized Republic City, as far she can tell, give or take a few sprawling slums. Just older, and really damn  _warm_.

 

She opens her eyes, though she makes no move out of her sitting pose. Eventually she pulls her sweaty foot out to relax into half lotus, pushing the earth up against a gnarled old root with her toes. Korra had been curious about this banyan tree. Under the light touch of her palm, it’s warm and mossy - kind. She’s just never seen one in a public park in the centre of town before - this one is encircled with a dais of concrete - though it turns out they’re common enough in this part of the Earth Kingdom. It had made sense to come here and spend some time with it, both to satisfy her curiosity and soothe her heat-induced insomnia.

 

Her stomach rumbles. She hops off the dais onto the grass and makes a beeline for the fried bread vendor. After wishing him well for the New Year, she relieves him of two mouthwatering lentil and potato breads (an extra free for the Avatar); hands the second one off to a giggly pair of street kids shifting on their feet behind her; and makes for the fruit stand, mumbling her thanks through a mouthful of bread as she swaps her crumpled yuans for a paper bag of lychees.

 

Back at the guesthouse, Asami is fast asleep on her side with her face maybe two inches from the portable electric fan. Korra pulls it back, tongue between her teeth. She washes under a cold bucketful of water before heading out onto the dusty veranda to dry her hair in the sun. Before it stretches a sweeping courtyard common to many guest apartments here. Staff are hurrying across it as they make preparations for the festivities.

 

Korra uses the time to make a mental note of what she wants, or has, to do today. At the late dinner following their arrival last night, the Mayor of Daoshu had filed off a laundry list of crises and causes _demanding_ the Avatar’s urgent attention, few of which seemed particularly pressing for the peace and happiness of anyone but the woman herself and a handful of government elites, even where a word in from the Avatar could have made a difference one way or another. Korra was ready to escape back into the airship, and then they were finally shown into a small but airy apartment within the diplomatic quarter. It's a festival day today, and the tail end of their own tour - half-vacation, half-unavoidable work engagements though it may have been - so she’d figured she could get away with minimal Avatar duties.

 

Some of the doormen and a bunch of teenagers have brought out chalk and buckets of coloured sand, to Korra’s intrigue. One of the staff milling around drops his armful of flowers to bring her a cup of tea when she catches his eye. Despite the delicate guesthouse crockery, the tea itself is strong, sweet, milky - a triple threat like nothing she’s had in the north, to be honest. Korra drinks and pulls out the same copy of Aang’s journals that she’s been perusing this whole trip, drawing her fingers over the deliberately neat script.

 

_The Annals of the Avatar - southeastern Earth Kingdom_

_Some notes of my tours. (105AG to 149AG)_

 

At some point in his life, Aang had become keen on committing to writing the details of his many journeys to the far off corners of the world. These weren’t official records by any stretch, though most of them were travels undertaken on official business. Nor were they verbose. But there was a romance to them, a tender eye for preserving the details of everyday life that Korra would have guessed (even if Aang hadn’t implied it in the foreword) could only come from having no such record of one’s own lost culture. She’s flooded with deep affection as she skims over the parts she’s already read.

 

_I first visited Daoshu after the earthquake caused by the namazu (big catfish spirit, don’t recommend meeting)... It was a terrible disaster but, you know, we all learned a lot…_ A note about the resilience of the people of Daoshu and the neighbouring province of Bakai. _Access to the mountains is pretty limited but very worth it… I actually left a glider here the last time._ A list of things he enjoyed about the festival (Korra adds to her mental notes.)  _They probably have the best tea in the EK... Not a lot of vegetarian options._ _I hear the fish is killer though (haha!)_

 

“ _Miss_ Avatar,” intones a pitchy, eager voice, an imitation of the Mayor last night _so_ perfect that Korra’s grip on her teacup almost loosens for a second.

 

Asami is in the doorway, towelling her hair. In these climes, she takes two to three showers a day; and has switched out her usual wardrobe for long, loose tunics.

 

“I think you should call me that more often,” Korra says seriously, shielding her eyes from the sun. Muffling her snort with the towel, Asami comes to sit opposite her on the cool woven mat.

 

She sets down the bag of lychees, and promptly begins to peel and eat from it. “Thank you, by the way.” This seems to be her preferred breakfast lately, for as long as the short lychee season will last. That and a cup of the awful cumin water which apparently preps her stomach so she can go to town on the crazy spicy fare down here for the rest of the day. Korra prefers the lychee juice she’s used to from Air Temple Island and not the slimy texture of the fruit.

 

“What’s on your schedule?” Asami says.

 

She tells her: only the formalities they can’t avoid. They watch one of the older kids usher the rest out of the way, and then kneel to draw, eating through a stick of chalk in barely a minute. Then they all stand around deliberating carefully over the huge quasi-floral shape on the ground.

 

“Hey, according to Aang, the festival is the perfect time to be here.”

 

Asami glances warmly down at the journal, though the fondness is for Korra. “I’ve been reading too. I was right about the seasons. We’re just heading into summer now - so we avoid both the _super_ hot time and the monsoon… Planned it pretty well, no?”

 

The Great Earth Kingdom Road Trip they’d been planning ever since Korra learned she would love to travel and do everything else ever with Asami, had, over the years, been necessarily whittled into smaller chunks of Earth Kingdom. This trip had taken them by air over about a month to various locales in the southeast, and they’d squeezed in a lot thanks to Asami’s skilful itineraries.

 

“Oh, great,” Korra says, fanning her face. “So it’s not even summer? Also - the fan nearly chopped your nose off. Don’t be an idiot next time, please.”

 

“Would you not love me if I didn’t have a nose -” Asami sucks on the pit of a lychee, but then she stops suddenly, eyes narrowed when they fall on the group decorating the ground. Their creation is now being filled in with the coloured sand, but it’s hard to see the pattern from here, from this angle. Asami presses her sticky fingers to her towel before standing up. “I’m going over there. It looks so beautiful.”

 

Korra smiles her off, content to be left with her book.

 

-

 

Avatar duty number one and only: New Year’s lunch with a bunch of officials from the province, at the Mayor’s residence. Asami and the autorickshaw driver strike up a conversation about engine models or something, before he drops them off in the thick of the celebrations. Half the streets are pedestrian only today, so they decide to walk the rest of the way, admiring the arresting procession floats before peeling off onto a smaller road.

 

They’re early - today’s an early sort of day if Korra’s ever had one - so they opt for a detour. An entourage of young women in matching hand-painted cottons points them towards an establishment offering free New Year’s do ups. Girls wielding face paint brushes and racks of colourful sashes spill out of the entryway, through which Korra and Asami weave their way indoors. Someone cries out, “The Avatar!” and before they know it they’re in the front of the rabble of a queue, being yanked into a parlour.

 

Korra’s lucky to be handed off to an elderly woman who doesn’t seem to care _who_ anyone is when they’re a third her age. Tugging yards of fabric between her plump hands, she chatters away at her. Then she pulls a comb through Korra’s hair like she’s digging a ditch (“Why don’t you grow it out, eh?”), whilst Korra grimaces and points to the wreath of night jasmines and tuberoses she wants tied in.

 

By their resemblance Korra thinks the other woman must be her daughter. She attends to Asami with the utmost care, painting thick red petals on her cheek with sensuous strokes. A pretty woman with a deep, serious eye - that she places on Asami almost _too_ keenly for Korra’s humour to remain entirely good. Afterwards she drapes her in a powdery white to match the pattern Korra’s wearing. And then, worried the white will wash her out, she gives Asami a papery shawl of red muslin instead.

 

She’s radiant, fiddling thoughtfully with the heavy marigolds in her hair.

 

There’s a photographer waiting on the way out - an art student type with a garish bandana and a flashbulb smile. Asami fishes out a few yuans from her pocket, and kisses Korra’s cheek with exceeding care so as not to smudge the face paint.

 

The Mayor lives in a pinkish brick house a few blocks deeper into town. At lunch, Asami bites into green chillies for fun, sucking air through her teeth with a cute cough and laugh. Korra has truly no fun at all when she does it herself. There’s only about eight people seated around the Mayor’s dining table, since many of the officials have chosen to forgo official duties today. Korra’s elbows knock the glass of the table over the ornately carved mahogany, as she pulls needle bones out of the pond of watery rice and fish.

 

One guest is a retired councilman whose furry grey brows swallow his entire face. “I remember Avatar Aang,” he stammers in a way that suggests he remembers few things, Avatar Aang possibly not among them. He pushes his glasses up his bony nose, considering his hands. “Yes, I was just an apprentice, assisting Councillor Dinesh with some of his papers and such, you understand. Very nice man, the Avatar. Just married, if I remember. Scar on his face. Tall, dark hair. Like yourself, Avatar Korra,” he nods thoughtfully towards Asami.

 

In any case, he seems extremely proud to have had their very own disaster ruin Avatar Aang and Master Katara’s honeymoon. Asami cups her garlanded hair again, the hint of self-conscious humour in her eyes. Absently Korra wonders if it will be like this whenever it is that _they_ get around to marrying, because it’s really about time.

 

They take their leave from the Mayor, declining the offer of transport back to their apartments. Bloated from lunch, they walk a quieter path back into the festivities along the riverbank. There are groups of revellers taking the slower route into the evening, floating barefoot in boats on the green water. Walking opposite are others carrying bags and packages from the mela, all stamped with the lotus seal of the district, now framing the numbers for the new year. This region’s calendar counted years from the reign of the first unifier of the southern Earth continent, some ancient character steeped in millennia of myth. Korra and Asami had calculated their birth years lying wide awake last night, on opposite ends of the bedding, the thought of being skin to skin in the muggy air too sickly.

 

Before any of the crowds and stalls comes into view the high, rippling banner declaring _Happy New Year 9304_ , with a smaller script listing all the goods and entertainment the fair is proud to purvey. Asami buys an antique map of the southeastern Earth Kingdom and a secondhand book about the local textiles and other handicrafts. The journey through the thickly packed lanes requires several respites here and there. It’s especially slow going with the odd scramble for a piece of the Avatar that occurs whenever Korra is recognised. She manages the grace to politely evade most of them, but not the heart to leave the adorably dressed up children hanging. Of course, stopping for one means stopping for every other. At one point she’s playing bending tricks while sipping on her mango ice for an audience of wide-eyed youngsters whose entire year has probably already been made. The stall keeper certainly doesn’t mind the sudden extra business.

 

Asami’s… somewhere around here.

 

She spies her, not before a few more interruptions, by a fruit vendor who has set his cart up in the shade of a bamboo walkway. He expertly slices starfruit and water apples with his curved blade, handing them over with a garnish of salt, chili powder and a suave grin. Asami takes Korra’s arm and offers her the newspaper boat of fruit. She listens while she eats.

 

“I think they’re setting up a show,” Asami points her gaze to an open square in the distance the colour of burnt earth. A group of dark, muscled men are lugging giant drums into the corners, and there’s even the shadow of a pair of camellephants behind a marquee. Many of the festivalgoers are pulling mats and chairs all about the perimeter. “Let’s grab a seat!”

 

The show lasts about three hours longer than Korra had bargained.

 

As they wander through the final few lanes, the exhaustion from a sleepless night finally creeps into her brain, and her step. With it is the desire to flee the crowds. The song and dance and revelry that had beckoned her earlier show no sign of stopping, but it bounces off her brain rather than drawing her in. Final stop, she muses blankly, when they enter a dingy setup of local antiques.

 

It’s there on the back wall, hung from the ceiling in a greasy looking sling. A bit musty, sure, but the model is unmistakable.

 

Aang’s glider.

 

She feels like she should be thanking him for looking out for her.

 

-

 

“I am not accountable if you go flying off, you know that, right?” Korra says, alighting on the riverbank from a test run of the glider. It's a little creaky but perfectly functional. She watches Asami knot the hefty cloth sack of spiced tea, fresh sweets and the remainder of the street fare either of them had wanted to try onto her shoulder. A rolled up woven mat is strapped onto her back.

 

“This is mostly your food,” she warns. “And you’re the airbender.”

 

Asami wraps her arms securely around Korra, and then they’re off. She tightens her hold and gasps lightly the second they’re cruising. Every hitch and release of her breath - Korra can detect, pressed together as they are. The city of Daoshu wheels away, the sheer scale of the celebrations unfolding with the height like a water lily in the sea of green-brown. Chill and gusty, the momentum of the flight billows their clothes and blows out the loose petals from their hair. Asami lets out a vaguely nervous, delighted giggle.

 

Korra thinks of Aang, sweeping up to survey the precipices behind them.

 

On the way down, she leaves them in virtual freefall for a few seconds, just to scare Asami, since she’s clearly too used to being in the air on her planes. Asami shuts her eyes and shrieks - as does Korra - before they return to a gentle drift in the final moments, touching down lightly on a smooth outcrop in the nook of a mountain.

 

Asami grins breathlessly, still clutching Korra’s waist. Legs weak, they both decide it’s easier to fall on their butts while their bodies adjust to solid ground.

 

“ _Wow_ ,” Asami gushes. “Why don’t we do that at home?”

 

“Because someone’s radio will catch it and you’ll have to explain to Beifong that you’re not... paragliding without a license…” Korra laughs, catching her breath. She nudges Asami up, untying the mat from her back.

 

They roll out the little picnic against the slight blush of sunset. By the time the twilight is hanging from the peaks and all the lanterns fathoms below are glowing gold, their sack is all but empty. Unused to their dense, cloying composition, Korra realises she’s probably washed down _way_ too many fried sweets with her tea. She falls flat on her back, greeted well by the array of new stars. Asami curls up against her stomach. Korra scritches her crown, playing with the thick wisps of hair that their spin on the glider untucked.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” she starts.

 

“Don’t tell me, you’re gonna write a book.” Asami takes her other hand and mumbles against it. Though she doesn’t quite mean it like _that_.

 

How did she know?

 

“Just a journal. For posterity,” Korra adds drily. “Can’t have everyone thinking the Avatar just screws around on an airship half the year, the second I duck out of a meeting.” She purses her lips. “Do you think it would be… worth it?”

 

“Yes.” Asami releases Korra’s hand and stretches her fingers out for the final little cashew square glinting on the mat.

 

“For sure? You _will_ have to be the one fact checking it.”

 

Asami props up on her elbows and dents the sweet with her teeth. Then she eats it in one bite, so she can lay her head back down, burrowing against Korra. “I actually think it’s about time.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [a mood board!](https://guileheroine.tumblr.com/post/184579401013/aesthetics-for-the-first-day-of-summer-a)


End file.
